


a moment, then two

by gearyoak



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, incomprehensible nonsense don't ask
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:09:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28324356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearyoak/pseuds/gearyoak
Summary: small one shots from tumblr
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> established relationship, mentions of old people fucking, basically a few minutes after them fucking 
> 
> if i missed anything let me know

the window is open; the withersons had their lawn guys out that morning so steve’s room smells like cut grass. he breathes it in through his nose, deep, and lets it out with a content hum, warming up the fabric of the pillowcase he’s resting his head on. he’s drowsy, because that’s not the first slow breath he’s taken in the passed twenty minutes. he could very easily fall asleep right now, incredibly comfortable in his bed, but.

y’know, he’s just distracted. 

because billy’s sitting up in his bed, too. leaning up against where it’s been pushed against the wall, elbow propped up on the windowsill, smoking cigarette being passed between his fingers and his mouth. he’d slipped boxers back on - steve’s boxers, but it doesn’t seem like he cares - but nothing else. he’s sitting on top of the sheets so it’s nothing but golden skin, curls falling across his forehead like they were styled to lay that way rather than being forced there by steve earlier. 

steve can’t close his eyes long enough without wanting to see him again, so he’s been unable to fall asleep. but he can’t look away, however _creepy_ that is, because billy might not notice him staring. or maybe he does and just doesn’t care, because he’s focused on something. There’s a furrow in his brow, the intense line of his jaw is set. 

so he reaches out, touches the ridges and bumps of billy’s ribs, at first just his fingertips until it’s his whole palm, dragging it until it’s close to his hipbone, just above the waistband of billy’s _\- his_ \- boxers. smiles at the way the hand billy’d previously been using to hold his cig comes down from the windowsill to grab steve’s. doesn’t pull him away, just holds it, presses it even firmer into his hip.

doesn’t look away from the window, though, so steve asks, “what’re you thinkin’ about?” 

and they’ve come a long way, steve’s realizing, because billy doesn’t roll his eyes immediately like he used when when he was asked this question. doesn’t scoff and say _why are you so goddamn nosy_ or _nothing, quit trying to start shit._

“thinkin’ about,” billy drawls from around his smoke. a moment of thought and he’s grinning. “thinkin’ about how i’m pretty sure your neighbor’s just faked coming about two times now.” 

“ _ew,_ dude,” steve snipped with a grimace, yanking on billy’s hand to encourage him to turn his eyes away from the palmer’s failing marriage.

billy cackles, does, snuffs his cig out on the bare wood of the windowsill and just leaves the butt _laying there_ , but steve doesn’t complain because he’s laying back down against him. taking the hand he’s still holding and draping steve’s arm across his waist, tucking his head under steve’s chin, and he can smell billy’s cologne. the faded scent of hair product. the trace amounts of sweat from their earlier fuck. 

“i’d bet my next paycheck she’s getting some from the lawn mower guy the people across the street hired,” he mumbles into steve’s throat, which makes him huff out a laugh.

“didn’t know you were such a gossip, hargrove.”

“what else is there to do in this fucking town,” billy retorts with a faux-irritated grunt.

steve hums, dips his fingers underneath the waistband of billy’s - his. _his,his,his -_ boxers. says, “not much,” and closes his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i write a lot about them being in bed because i wish i could be in bed more often 
> 
> anyway i can't think of a content warning for this one besides it being a modern au but that's not really a content warning. if there is one, let me know

he wakes up and he thinks it’s maybe because his bare shoulders are covered in goosebumps. 

he’s on his stomach, face mushed into the pillow he’s folded his arms underneath of, but he doesn’t have to look to know that the comforter isn’t covering him as much as he’d like it to. an irritated noise escapes him and he’s not awake enough to stop it from coming out - and it’s not his fault, anyway, he shouldn’t be awake. he shouldn’t _have_ to be making noises because of the cold in the first place.

with the bratty little grunt out of the way, he leans up enough to grab at the blanket that’s slipped halfway down his back, yanking it when it gets stuck under something. he goes to flop back down, but then there’s movement beside him and it’s followed very closely by a laugh. soft and barely there. there’s nothing going on in his room, though, so he hears it. plain as day. 

so when he does finally lay back down, he does it without much drama and makes sure his head lands on the pillow facing the direction of the noise came from. the source isn’t even looking at him, eyes locked onto his phone, looking too awake for his liking. there’s plenty to like about the sight, though. blond curls laid out across the pillows, most of the shared blanket tucked under a lightly stubbled chin. blue eyes bright with the reflection of twitter. 

he smiles without really meaning to, unfolds his arm out from under him and reaches out so he can run the pad of his thumb along a sleep-warm cheekbone. the other hardly reacts, maybe leans into it a smidge but doesn’t look away from the screen. 

“mornin’, big cat,” he says, voice thick with an incoming yawn.

“i doordashed mcdonalds,” is the response he gets in return.

and, fuck, steve’s smile gets bigger, because he’s thinking _i missed being in love._ he’s thinking shit like _i don’t think there’ll ever be anything quite like waking up next to you_. 

he whispers, “ _fuck_ yeah,” and feels so light at the way it makes billy huff out a small laugh again, because it must sound a lot like he meant to say, _i love you, i love you, i love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayayaya


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of addiction i guess???? bcuz billy is trying to quit cigarettes. so like all the stuff that goes along with that, he talks about having cravings for food more often as well and is kinda upset about it. maybe ooc too.

there are far too many kids at the pool. steve sorta wonders where they all came from, because the mall was packed with them, too. is the population of hawkins dominated by children? when the fuck did that happen?

he’s at the gate, but doesn’t move through it. just peers around the building until he catches sight of the lifeguard chair to double check and - no, it’s not billy. not even heather. it’s one of the older guards from the group of college kids home for break. so he bypasses the pool, heads for the lobby. 

heather spots him first even though she’s sitting on the outside of the small desk they’ve got set up for registering for those shitty pool passes. she smiles at him, raises her eyebrows like someone’s told a joke and he should be laughing. then he looks to billy and figures maybe he’s the joke, because he’s behind the desk and got his back pressed firmly against the wall, sitting stiffly in the stool. he’s got his aviators on even though they’re inside and the only light is coming from the open double doors leading to the pool area. still, steve can tell he’s scowling, mouth pulled down into a frown, jaw tense, brow pinched. 

steve stifles his smile and ventures closer. “ahoy,” he says to heather. 

“ahoy, sailor,” she responds, but her eyebrows are still raised and it’s obvious she wants him to address the pissy elephant in the room, so he does. 

looks at billy, who hasn’t even moved, and goes, “how y’holdin’ up, big cat?” he tries for sympathetic, but the smile finally breaks out. and it’s minute, the way billy’s head twitches just so, and steve can feel his eyes on him, hot with a glare even through his shades. 

“he physically threatened four people today,” heather answers for him, because it’s obvious billy isn’t going to. “and only one of them was a minor.” 

“hey,” steve says, a little too genuinely, “that’s not bad! and it’s only day three!” 

billy doesn’t say anything, only lets out a slow breath through his nose that flares his nostrils and goes back to looking out the double doors. 

“the yelling-at-a-minor thing got him in trouble, though,” heather admits, leaning her elbow on the desk and grinning at billy. “they made him go on lunch early to ‘cool off’, huh, billy?” 

“which works out, because the mcdonalds that just opened on the corner of fifth and blossom was, like, empty, so it wouldn’t take forever to stop by. wanna get some food?” he directs the last part to billy.

and finally, finally, he leans forward so he can look up at steve from over his sunglasses. “what i want,” he grits out, voice a something like a growl, so steve is quick to cut him off.

“let’s get food,” he says cheerily.

later, when they’re pulled off to the side in a parking spot, the beemer idling, billy having finished his and steve’s fries, he asks, “where’s your little outfit?”

“i got off three hours ago.” 

he grunts, thumps his head back against the seat’s rest with a dramatic sigh. “you won’t let me have fucking anything, harrington.” 

steve laughs at him, which probably wasn’t the smart move because billy rolls his head to the side and just stares at him. 

so he clears his throat, tries to school his expression, asks, “you still got a headache?”

billy scoffs. “i’ve had a headache for seventy-two goddamn hours.” he crosses his arms low over his stomach, as if it hurt, and leans forward until his head is between his knees. “i’ve had a headache, i can’t fucking sleep because every time i lay down i cough like i have fucking pneumonia,” and then quickly, as if the thought just occurs to him, “and i’m always fucking hungry, man. this is fucking bullshit.” 

steve watches him for a second, biting the inside of his cheek, now feeling genuinely sympathetic without having to try. ‘cause, like, yeah, billy was dramatic, and he’d thought that he was playing it up for a little bit. he’d been through this before, but steve hadn’t smoked nearly as often as billy. mostly he kept it to moments where he was aiming to impress, sometimes he wouldn’t even light it. so like, steve had smoked about once a month for half a year. he could barely say he even really quit smoking so much as he just stopped doing it at all rather than barely.

but, billy, shit, every time they hung out he talked about needing to get a pack either soon or right then. he smoked when he drove, smoked when he was bored, smoked when he was thinking too much, smoked after they fucked. steve’s almost positive at one point, there was no blood in billy’s body and it was all just nicotine keeping him alive. nicotine and the incessant need to be a general nuisance. 

so now, in that frame of thinking, it’s almost like billy was living through a constant blood transfusion, siphoning out the nicotine and replacing it with normal-human-being blood again. steve was pretty sure that’s how quitting smoking works. 

“hey.” he says softly, reaching out to rub at billy’s back. he doesn’t relax but he doesn’t flinch away, so steve keeps doing it. “it’s gonna get better.”

billy grunts again. “you don’t know shit, harrington.” 

steve’s hand moves upwards to thread through billy’s curls, scritching at the roots and then tugging gently to urge him to sit back up. he resists for a second but gives in with another dramatic sigh. he turns toward steve, and steve uses the grip he’s got on his hair, his neck, to pull him forward. 

he kisses him, once, then twice, and repeats, “it’s gonna get easier.” 

“it fucking better,” billy responds after a while, closing his eyes and falling back into his seat with a sigh. steve lets him go with a small smile, working the pads of his thumb and forefinger into the sides of the other’s neck in little circles. billy eases into it and finishes, “because all’ve this shit ain’t worth it, otherwise.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at trevsawriter where you can send prompts or just say stuff at me and i'll read it and respond, sometimes it'll even contain a coherent thought


End file.
